


Finding A Thermal Equilibrium

by coffeelacedwords



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:49:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeelacedwords/pseuds/coffeelacedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Season 2 Finale. Gilfoyle takes something and Dinesh doesn't know how he ends up in these situations except that he unfortunately does. Very mild dub-con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding A Thermal Equilibrium

Dinesh scans the next line of code, fingers tapping absently on the keyboard and revising his script just to keep his hands busy. He keeps glancing at the open tabs of his browser full of dating site profiles sprinkled with a few job listings and runs a hand across his face, wondering if ten o’clock in the morning is too early to drink.

It's been three days since Pied Piper won its David versus Goliath punch-out lawsuit with Hooli and it's been two and a half days since Richard was fired as CEO. Dinesh can't decide who's taking it worse in the house. Richard hasn't emerged from his room since the phone call. Of course, there's Erlich who's rampaging through the house, ranting about anything from which way the toilet paper faces to the hierarchy of food in the refrigerator.

Then there's Jared.

"Richard," Jared raps a nervous knuckle on the closed bedroom door, curling his body in a way that makes six feet and four inches of height look small. "Richard? I printed out a list of various, um, exercises we can go over to relieve some of the stress you've been feeling."

Dinesh shakes his head at the sight, mouthing a silent, ' _Pathetic_ ,' to himself.

"Does that list include fellating him?" Gilfoyle asks, emerging from his own room and making a beeline for the kitchen, disheveled and casual in sweats.

Jared starts to reply, face twisted in innocent confusion, when Richard's door unlocks and creaks open. Dinesh catches a brief flash of the drawn expression on Richard's face before Jared slips quietly inside and closes the rest of them out.

The house feels strange now, much emptier without their hired coders, and it's affecting everyone. Well, almost everyone.

He tears his eyes away from the now deserted hallway and glances over to Gilfoyle, shoveling cereal into his face with a vacant stare. At least someone is a constant in this whole mess, unable to be overridden or altered by the shit-storm happening around them.  

Lazy footsteps shuffle past him, Gilfoyle placing his empty dish precariously in the yet to be repaired hole in the wall. He flops down into his chair and props his feet up on his desk like Pied Piper's whole future isn't in danger of shitting the bed. It's never been more apparent how much Gilfoyle genuinely enjoys the awkwardness and suffering of others. 

"Hey. Let’s play _Destiny_." 

With a sigh, Dinesh rubs his eyes. "Well, Gilfoyle, unlike some of us who have let our work slip due to our current and unfortunate circumstances, this metaphorical limbo of Pied Piper isn't going to stop me from working."

Unimpressed, Gilfoyle replies, "If by working you mean rewriting the same code over and over until you've turned your shit code into a ridiculously shit code, then sure, you're working."

Dinesh covers his code with his browser and mutters, "You're shit."

Gilfoyle coughs up something close to a laugh before rummaging for the controllers, handing Dinesh the one with the finicky left thumbstick, a small triumphant smirk on his face before they sink down into their respective spots. Dinesh loses himself in another glowing screen, not thinking about hearing back from Raviga or Richard miserable and no longer their CEO or how one of the most exhilarating moments of his life was working to keep a man that was drinking his own urine online.

 ---

His day flies by in a mindless haze of legendary farming. Somewhere between the trash-talking with Gilfoyle at his back, Erlich drags Jian Yang out on what he calls a 'Ball Busting Extravaganza' while Jared gets Richard appearing noticeably less Gollum-like before heading out to who knows where. He bets Gilfoyle it's a date. Gilfoyle snickers and refuses to take the bet.

They play for hours, the pressure of everything fading away into an easy mindlessness, and that's how he wakes up much later slouched in his chair. The room is darker, dimly lit by the flicker of the screen, and the house is quiet except for the cycle of the start menu.

"Gilfoyle," he calls out, reaching for his phone. There are only a few missed emails and a group text from Monica.

A low, sleepy hum is the only reply he gets, Gilfoyle tucked deep into his chair, body much more lax than normal.

"Unbelievable," Dinesh mutters, standing up to peer over him. "Not a care in the world."

A clumsy hand shoots out, Gilfoyle almost knocking over his lukewarm beer before finally grabbing it and taking a sip. "It's absolutely believable. I'm fucking flying."

"When did you even get up to take something?" Dinesh wonders out loud, not expecting an answer. Instead he stretches and starts to reluctantly tidy up, collecting empty chip bags and abandoned energy drinks.

As he picks up another empty beer bottle, there's a light brush against his knee, Gilfoyle's arm now stretched out in his vicinity. Gilfoyle stares at the play of his fingers against the fabric at Dinesh's knee, mesmerized.

"No shit, fucking flying," he grumbles, sidling out of reach.

He dumps the trash on the kitchen counter, rolling his eyes and cursing Erlich as he grudgingly slips the glass and aluminum into the recycling bin.

Finally deciding to face the music, he sets up at his computer to respond to his emails, still reluctant to read Monica's text no doubt updating them on the status of Pied Piper. He's halfway through setting up an interview when Gilfoyle slides up next to him, hovering right by his elbow. There's a soft noise and then he's sagging against Dinesh's desk, hips nudging his keyboard.

"Jesus, Gilfoyle. 'Drugs, fuck hugs,' wasn't that you're motto?" he asks, finally glancing up to meet Gilfoyle's bleary stare. "What did you even take?"

"Fuck if I know," he admits, voice wavering as a shaky hand rakes through his hair. "Broke into Erlich's stash of Rocky Road. _Shit_."

Dinesh starts at the trill of his phone, sighing when he reads the name displayed. "Speak of the devil." 

Gilfoyle mutters a low, "Praise the Dark Lord," as Dinesh answers the call.

"Erlich, to what do I owe this pleasure?" 

"I can sense your sarcasm from here, Dinesh, and I find it exceptionally repugnant. But nevermind that," Erlich says, hissing at someone in the background. " _Stay down_. Look, I couldn't get a hold of Jared and I need you to let Richard know that unlike the rest of you, I've made it all okay."

Dinesh glances back at Gilfoyle, his body slumping over his now curled up leg, his pupils dilated and his face flushed. "Yeah, I'm sure. Hey, what was in your Rocky Road?"

"Stay out of my icy delights, Dinesh- Goddamnit Jian Yang! Run!"

He hears the phone fumble and muffled scrambling before he adds, "Gilfoyle broke into it and doesn't look so hot."

Erlich huffs out a curse before stage whispering, "It's a highly potent concoction meant for me and any of my special lady guests. Now, make sure to tell Richard that I- Oh, fuck my a-"

There's an electric crackle right before the phone cuts off.

Feeling his lips twitch up into a smile, he squints at the lit screen of his phone and says, "The good news is I'm pretty sure you just need to go watch something X-rated. The even better news is that I think Erlich got tased tonight."

"The perfect night," Gilfoyle says, tone dry. Slowly, he pushes up onto his feet and disappears into his room.

Dinesh turns back to his computer and clicks on some music, wondering not for the first time how he got stuck in this whole mess in the first place. The sarcastic, unsentimental part of himself refuses to acknowledge the small, fuzzy thought that it's all because the people in this house are the closest thing to friends he's ever had.

Three answered emails and two potential dates later, Dinesh finds his eyes drooping at his desk, over an hour wasted. He sinks back into the dip of his chair, ready to get up and sleep for two days straight, when Gilfoyle gracelessly perches onto his workstation, his socked feet knocking into Dinesh's shin.

"Dinesh," he says, an unusual hitch in his voice.  

"What is it, Gilfoyle?" he snaps in irritation, rubbing along his now tender leg. "I thought you were..." Dinesh trails off, immediately remembering where he went in the first place, growing uncomfortable at the thought.  

Looking even more flushed than before, Gilfoyle has abandoned his flannel, only in a dark tank top and sweatpants. His hair clings to the sheen on his face, the ends curling up damply at his neck, and sweat soaks through his undershirt.

"You look terrible," Dinesh says, shifting up straight in his seat. Unsure, he makes a helpless crude gesture, "Wait, didn't you go take care of it?"

Gilfoyle blinks at him in that cruel, mocking fashion. "Good job, Dinesh, why didn't I remember to do that? Oh wait, I did. But my raging boner won't go away."

He motions towards his crotch and Dinesh refuses to follow the gesture. He suddenly feels painfully awake and lurches out of his chair.

"Then, I don't know, drink some water or go to a doctor-" 

"At eleven o'clock at night, so high and horny I can barely stand? Great idea."

"Okay then find someone to... ” he suggests in frustration, unable to finish the thought. Again, he motions vaguely, aiming for clarification.

Gilfoyle's quiet, even as his body vibrates with the double whammy of the drug he consumed. He kicks out his long legs before shakily standing up. There's something predatory about Gilfoyle, about the way he's completely clad in black and lanky and suddenly towering over Dinesh.

"Okay," he agrees, not breaking eye contact.

Heat spikes through him, that heavy nervous feeling settling low in his gut like when he meets a pretty girl for the first time. It's that same feeling he got when he first watched porn or when he walked in on a couple eagerly rounding third base.

He struggles not to go off on a tangent about sports analogies in correlation with sex as Gilfoyle waits patiently in front of him, feet shifting and eyes dark. "You're kidding, right? This is some kind of elaborate mindfuck you hatched up with Erlich."

Gilfoyle cuts him off, "I would rather choke to death on my own balls then team up with Erlich on anything. Especially a prank, which this most certainly is not."

His expression is stony as usual except for the tightness around his mouth and the heat in his gaze, which definitely slips down to Dinesh's mouth. Dinesh's whole body shivers and he steps out of Gilfoyle's direct field of vision, applying what he knows about situations involving predators and prey.

"You can't be fucking serious. I can barely move past the fact you have an erection right now," he stumbles over his words, his tongue growing heavy in his mouth.

Gilfoyle spins slowly to face him, movement muddled, as he says, "You're not my first choice but you'll do."

Dinesh racks his mind for a better solution. He's a man of numbers, an educated man who can argue the probability of jerking off eight hundred guys in a room. So why is it that he's struggling to find a reason to get out of this?

"I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation." Gilfoyle crosses his arms in a way that seems a lot less intimidating when he wobbles on his feet. "I need someone- in this unfortunate case, you. If I wait any longer, I'm going to die."

"That seems a bit melodramatic," he argues, crossing his arms to mirror the man in front of him. "I've seen those commercials of old guys golfing with boners. Plus, you must have experienced a bad trip before." Dinesh tries to channel Erlich and his ridiculous power stance, somehow feeling more like Richard and his inclination for vomiting.

Gilfoyle inches into his space again, the distance between them growing shorter and shorter.

"Don't you think I've thought of every other possible option than this? My body is on fire," he says, hands trembling. "My dick feels like it's about to explode, even after jerking it for an hour straight, and I'm still only half sure this whole conversation isn't an elaborate hallucination."

Dinesh squashes all instincts to back up, knowing what happens to cornered animals that run.

"This is absurd. What would you even expect me to do?" he trails off, his gaze staying level with Gilfoyle's beard. His face feels warm with embarrassment.

Gilfoyle seems to take that as an agreement and leans forward until he's so close he has to bow his head to catch Dinesh's gaze, his eyes glassy and intense. "Sex," he admits, blunt as ever, entirely focused on him. 

Dinesh wants to argue because that's their MO. They rattle on about hypotheticals, not about fucking each other. The entire time they've known each other, they've never come close to this unfamiliar place.

A breath he didn't know he was holding rushes out of him when Gilfoyle takes a step back. Of course, Gilfoyle never really backs down from anything. A small, worried voice is telling him to get the hell out of Dodge while he can.

"Unless you're scared I'm too much man for you," he smirks, the true competitive Gilfoyle shining through this hazy, stoned version.

"If you think you can make trying to, what, jerk you off until you're not high on some kind of supercharged Viagra-laced amphetamines into a game of 'Gay Chicken', you're fooling yourself."

Gilfoyle arches an eyebrow in one quick motion, his eye contact unwavering and Dinesh feels a surge of dread wash through him, knowing he's already lost.

\--- 

And that's how he finds himself pinned flat on Gilfoyle's bed, their bodies not touching yet, but a hot mouth sliding along his jaw.

"Oh god," Dinesh says, a hitch in his throat. He hopes he's not hyperventilating.

"Don't bring him into this," Gilfoyle murmurs, mouthing at the sensitive skin of his neck. A rough drag of teeth has him arching up, his body making contact with the heat of Gilfoyle's.

"Oh _fuck_."

"Better." He soothes the marked skin with a slow drag of his tongue and Dinesh's eyes are squeezed so tight, he's not sure they'll ever open again. Those hot, wandering hands are on him, rucking up his shirt and pressing into his skin. The skin against his is scalding and he struggles to find something to focus on that isn't, _'I'm having sex with Gilfoyle.'_

How did they get here? This is the Gilfoyle who always twists into his chair, his legs casual and bent. This is the Gilfoyle who shits on people he hates and shits even more on people he likes. This is the same Gilfoyle who fucks girls, who organizes his food shelf by crunch, and who secretly likes the tiny devil windup toy Dinesh bought him at a yard sale a few months ago.

"Shit," Gilfoyle swears, grinding down against Dinesh. "I'm on fucking fire. Murder is too good for what I plan on doing to Erlich."

"Gilfoyle," he gasps, body already reacting to all the stimulation.  He never ever imagined he'd be hard when it came to Gilfoyle. But then Dinesh remembers TechCrunch and it's like some kind of twisted self-fulfilling prophecy. "How do you know this is even going to work? We don't know exactly what you took, for all we know this could last hours-"

He's cut off with a kiss, rough lips slotting against his and his beard scratchy against Dinesh's skin. Long hair brushes against his face and it's almost like a girl, that same tug of want pooling low in his belly, but then there's an erection shifting against his own and it's all suddenly so different. He pushes down the fear he always feels with being intimate, attempting to placate the panicking part of his mind with the idea that it's just sex and in the long run he's helping Gilfoyle not die, which helps Pied Piper not fail.

Lips draw back from his and Dinesh finds himself chasing that mouth with a needy noise, searching for more. Fuck, he's already in too deep. 

"Do you ever shut up?"

"You know I'm a nervous talker," Dinesh points out, his brain throwing them right back into that safe place of pushing and pulling, of shitting on each other and being something pricklier than friends. Rolling his eyes, Gilfoyle peels his shirt off, necklace bouncing against a strong collarbone, and adjusts his glasses before helping Dinesh take off his.

He swallows around the lump in his throat. "You're pretty functional for someone already on their way to a Magical Mystery Tour. We don't really need our shirts off, do we? I'm totally comfortable with some high school, over the clothes-"

"Dinesh."

He freezes at the heat in his tone, at the lingering way fingers trace across his skin. That hungry look is back, his mouth parted open with want, that expression so unfamiliar on Gilfoyle - at least when it's directed at him.

"You're not as out of shape as I thought."

"Well fuck you too," Dinesh snaps, trying not to think about how long it's been since the last person that saw him shirtless. He can list on one hand the number of people who have seen him naked and that doesn't help calm his stuttering heartbeat. "Coming from the guy who lives off of cereal, beer, and loneliness."

A hot shock spikes through him as Gilfoyle thrusts down, knocking a low moan out of him as their bodies rock together. Damnit, they are actually going through with this. _'What the fucking fuck,'_ is all his brain can process.

"The faster you touch my dick, the faster we can get this over with," Gilfoyle smirks down at him.

"So romantic," Dinesh grumbles, unclenching his hands from the black sheets beneath him. He hesitates before reaching for him, Gilfoyle obviously hard and tenting the front of his pants. Shaking hands manage to slide down his sweats with no underwear in sight, Dinesh's fingers brushing against fever hot skin. He takes a deep, unsteady breath as Gilfoyle's cock bobs between them. 

Dinesh bites his lip and tries to calm the beating in his chest, the dryness in his mouth overwhelming. Building up what little courage he has, he grasps Gilfoyle's cock and gives it a few dry strokes, focusing on a spot on the back of his own hand.

There's a light click as Gilfoyle says, "As hot as this whole innocent, dry jerk session is, I'm raw as fuck."

He grabs Dinesh's hand and squirts some lube into it, before steering him back to his cock. Gilfoyle groans at the touch, controlling Dinesh's pace with his own hand, their fingers locking together and spreading the lube. Dinesh tries to convince himself it's just like masturbation, just with some other dude's dick in his palm.

The arm bracing Gilfoyle up shakes and he pulls his guiding hand away to stabilize himself, letting Dinesh take the lead. His whole body arches into Dinesh's touch in a powerful motion, rolling his hips into it with fervor. The sight of Gilfoyle sliding through his fist is obscene but also hypnotic, like he's watching this whole thing on a screen. 

All of Dinesh's biting words escape him as he twists his hand how he likes to when he's alone in the solitude of his own room. He concentrates especially around the slippery head of Gilfoyle's cock, thumbing over the slit already leaking precome. ' _It's just like an equation,'_ he thinks, feeling a little hysterical. It's just friction and pressure to reach an end result.

" _Fuck_ ," Gilfoyle exclaims, burying his face against the curve of Dinesh's neck, a hand pawing at his arm, sliding down to clutch his waist. His grip is bruising. "Just like that."

It's the desperation in his voice that spurs Dinesh to pump faster, the slick slide of his hand on Gilfoyle's cock echoing in his blood. Gilfoyle's nothing but need when he comes across Dinesh's stomach, a hurt sound escaping him as his cock twitches in Dinesh's hand.

"And I thought I was the one who was inexperienced," he jokes, breaking the tension, pushing down the freak-out of having Gilfoyle's jizz on his stomach. "That must have been a new record. Looks like I'm the Pakistani Casanova."

"Choke on my balls," Gilfoyle huffs out, chest heaving. His forehead is pressed into the sheets, his mouth right against Dinesh's ear. "You try being high and having the _Pinocchio_ of erections."

Tilting his head back in consideration, Dinesh blinks up at the ceiling and points out, "It's probably more like the _Sleeping Beauty_ of erections. You know, except cursed with a constant state of hardness as opposed to sleeping for forever."

Dinesh sneaks a glance at Gilfoyle's erection between them, still hard and swollen red at the tip, jutting out from his hips in such a debauched way. With every shift of his hips, his cock bounces, resting on the soft curve of Dinesh's stomach. He feels his own cock swell at the image, so over-stimulated and confused, torn between the fact that this is _Gilfoyle_ but also that this is sex. It's like all of that desperate need possessing Gilfoyle is transferring to him.

With more confidence than he feels, he reaches for Gilfoyle again, trying to match the pace he set earlier.

Gilfoyle curses at the touch, conflicted between twisting into it for relief or away from it, his cock obviously sensitive. He reaches for Dinesh, palming his cock through the front of his pants. Dinesh jumps at the contact, a fluttering rush of desire settling low in his gut.

"Uh, I'm going to be honest. Not sure I can handle your hand on my dick."

Gilfoyle blinks sluggishly, pushing back the hair in his eyes. A dark smile tugs at the edge of his lips. "You're telling me it's okay to jerk a guy off repeatedly but you have a gay crisis as soon as the same guy puts your dick into the whole equation?"

"I never said it made sense," he snaps, awkwardly stroking Gilfoyle at a slower pace. "I can't jerk off comfortably without a locked door, sue me when I get fidgety about a handjob from you of all people." Dinesh squeezes his fist at the thick base of Gilfoyle's cock, taking a little pleasure in the way Gilfoyle squirms. "For all I know, you're recording this and you'll upload it to some 'Pakistani Sluts' URL." He pauses and blinks in horror. "Wait, are you-?"

"No," Gilfoyle grits out, "I'd do a lot worse than just uploading a video to some porn site."

Then there's a hand sliding past his jeans, wrapping around where he's almost fully erect. Dinesh gasps at the touch, the skin against his blisteringly hot except for the cool glide of the gaudy ring Gilfoyle always wears.

"Jesus, Gilfoyle," he moans, struggling to stay still with a hand on his dick. "At least take off your jewelry."

Gilfoyle being Gilfoyle doesn't listen, instead setting a ruthless pace, making long sweeping pulls from base to tip that has Dinesh forgetting where he is for a moment. Then that possessive mouth is back on his skin, beard scratching along his jaw. 

"In case you forgot, I'm the one who has a permanent erection." The dry, biting words, along with a sharp jerk that has Dinesh arching off the bed, get his hand moving again. Gilfoyle lets out a dark, happy purr at the touch.

"Sadist," Dinesh laments, not for the first time wondering how he got into this mess in the first place. Gilfoyle drags the callused skin of his thumb along the sticky, wet head of Dinesh's cock, smearing it in a way that has him uncomfortably close to coming.

"I don't hear you complaining," he grins against the now slick skin of his shoulder. Dinesh doesn't want to analyze how close to the truth Gilfoyle is. He's always been able to read people a little too openly.

"Fuck, just- stop talking," he insists, worried that he sounds like he's begging.

Gilfoyle releases his cock, tearing open the front of his jeans to push them farther down along with his boxer briefs, and licks the palm of his hand twice before grasping Dinesh again. He's smirking down at Dinesh like Satanic Christmas came early. 

"I bet you've thought about this before," he grins, lips red from kissing and stretched crookedly across his face. "I can blame the big bad drugs. What's your excuse, Dinesh?" 

Dinesh growls at a particularly rough stroke, cursing himself because of course Gilfoyle would do the opposite of what he asks. It's been a long time since someone touched his cock and Gilfoyle mocking him isn't slowing down his impeding orgasm any.

"I'm doing this as a favor," he pants, pumping Gilfoyle faster, trying and failing to shut him up. "Because you asked me to, you asshole." 

His voice is shaky, his hand stuttering its pace and the angle becoming awkward. He curses at how Gilfoyle is dragging his fucking soul out of him through his cock. The way Gilfoyle's stroking him has Dinesh painfully aware just how good he is with his hands, how Gilfoyle builds and tears down with all that strength wrapped around his dick. A broken sound escapes him at the touch, his body rocking uncontrollably, and he bites back saying something he'll regret as he comes in Gilfoyle's hand. 

Gilfoyle leers down at him and teases, "What was that? I couldn't hear you over the sound of me making you cream yourself."

"Fuck off," he says, drained of any energy. His body tingles with the intensity of his orgasm.

"That's the idea," he says, words brushing against his skin. Nudging his hips into Dinesh's grip, he releases Dinesh's cock to smear the come across his chest.

"You hedonistic piece of garbage," Dinesh mutters, continuing to jack Gilfoyle's cock, his hand feeling numb from his orgasm. His torso feels simultaneously wet and tacky. "I should just let you die. I'd be doing the world a disservice letting you live."

"I die, I'm taking the whole fucking world with me," he says, sweeping a scorching lick along Dinesh's throat. Fingers drag down his body, a heavy hand cupping the back of his thigh and hooking it up over Gilfoyle's hip. "You'll be the first to go."

The velvety threat is whispered hot against his collarbone, his skin pebbling at the shiver that runs through him. This is heading in a dangerous direction and Dinesh is suddenly aware of how they would look if someone saw them. Gilfoyle fit snuggly between his legs, both of them shirtless and with their pants slipped down around their thighs. Dinesh trapped under him, his throat exposed and Gilfoyle eagerly latched onto it. He swallows a moan at the thought and fists the fever hot flesh of Gilfoyle's cock, pushing down the swell of arousal.

Gilfoyle's watching him closely, his eyes far too penetrating for Dinesh's liking. "I should have known you'd enjoy being so submissive, after all the ass-kickings I gave you. If I'd have known you actually liked being humiliated-"

Thoughtlessly he drags Gilfoyle down into a kiss and curls his hand around the slick base of his neck, desperate to stop the words that keep picking him apart. He gasps into the kiss, letting Gilfoyle pry his mouth open, tongue dragging wetly against his. Dinesh tugs sharply at the hair tangled in his fingers and twists his fist around Gilfoyle's cock, only stopping to focus along the fleshy ridge of the tip.

He wants this to be over so they can go back to their safe place of always being around each other but never defining it, never knowing which day he'll wake up and they'll be closer to enemies than friends. Being rejected by girls and not getting laid and tearing people down with Gilfoyle as his copilot is how things should be. Splayed on his back with Gilfoyle eager and rutting up against him is as far from safe and normal as they can get.

Teeth nibble on his lip, the wet sound of their kissing almost drowning out their gasps, almost erasing the obscene, slick sounds of Gilfoyle's cock. It's like everything they were is crumbling down around them and Gilfoyle's groans are lost between them, Dinesh swallowing one after another as hands scramble to bruise and possess.

Gilfoyle gasps out a hot, "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_." Chanting against Dinesh's lips, his glasses slip off and he pushes them to the side, grasping Dinesh's chin in his hand as he comes, barely anything left inside of him, simply fitting their mouths.

He collapses against Dinesh, sweat and come mixing together. Dinesh squeezes his hand out from between them and clicks his teeth together as Gilfoyle presses all of his weight onto his once again aching erection.

"I'm going to fucking die," Gilfoyle says mournfully, his hair tickling Dinesh's neck. Dinesh can feel him still hard against his own erection.

There's a long pause of them just breathing, just them and this house and this room. Uncertainty is all around them but for right now, pinned under Gilfoyle and tearing their friendship apart piece by piece, it's the kind of world shattering moment he can handle.

Dinesh finally shifts against the pressure on his cock, biting back a groan, and asks, "Hey, when you die, can I have your stuff?"


End file.
